Loved Without Loss, Put Down My Cross
by lotus-brody
Summary: After a firefight with a serial killer goes south Elliot begins to lose it and doesn't like where things are going. Rated for language, content, and eventual slash. First fic, R&R! Chapters three and four up!
1. Prolouge

Alrighty, a few notes before everyone reads this:

None of the characters on SVU are mine. I might wish I owned Elliot, would be fun, but I don't.

The story depicted is fiction. Any relation to actual stories in the papers or names being real people is purely coincidental.

I'm not a hardcore fan. I've only seen season 2, season 5, season 6, and of course what's been shown on the latest. So anything I don't know, perhaps a character tidbit (age, birth date, name ex, Dr. Warner or Hendrix's first name) will be made up by assumptions made by the episodes I've already seen. I don't have the Internet at home, so all this has to be done at school, and I don't have a ton of time to research properly, so you'll have to pardon my ignorance. (And if you correct me, please be nice about it. I hate nasty comments; they just bring me down and make me not want to write.)

I'm Canadian. I don't know a ton about the US, so I won't exactly be able to write down say the addresses of locations. In the beginning there's the mentioning of a school project on past wars, I write what I know. 'Nuff said.

To do with this chapter: I saw the episode where Elliot tells Hendrix about his father beating him. I couldn't remember the exact details (damn me for not taping an episode like that!) so I used my creative license. I also used the same for Elliot's family (names, etc) because I don't know them. If they ever were mentioned, I never saw those episodes. So again, if you correct me, please be nice and I'll change it.

(Oh boy, am I done _yet?)_

Yeah, I am. lol.

Prolouge

_November 25th, 1978_

"_C'mon bro, we've gotta get walking, or we'll miss the bus!" my brother Jack said as he shoved his feet into his boots, his diorama under his arm. _

_We were in grade five, and our History teacher Mr. Rooney told us to make a diorama of a famous war. Jack did the War of 1812 for the project. He was always doing stuff to make Mr. Rooney mad, and Mr. Rooney doesn't like Canada very much, and according to Jack's research Canada won that war. I don't know why he doesn't like Canada; he calls them a bunch of pacifist rednecks. Dad threatened Rooney though, if he didn't pass Jack's diorama because of prejudice he'd get him fired._

"_Yeah, yeah," I said as I pulled on my jacket. My own carefully crafted diorama sat on the little boot room bench by the door of our condo. I'd done the Civil War. It was really nice, dad even helped me with it, the first nice thing that he's done since the year before when Jack let it slip about an incident that happened in the schoolyard in grade four._

_Jack and Jessica slipped out the door. I could see my friend Borden waiting by the gate, who waved at Jack. Jess was a year behind and didn't have a project, but she had a bunch of cookies she'd baked for her class, as it was her best friend's birthday._

"_C'mon!" Borden yelled at me. _

"_Hold up a minute!" I yelled back, putting on my boots._

_I wandered outside and as I was walking down the steps I stumbled and heard a snap. I lifted the top to my project and looked inside and frowned. A tree had snapped in two. I pulled it out and looked at it, then decided to just put it in the house._

_I turned and I was jogged back up, yelling at Jack, Jessica and my friend Borden that I'd catch up. I went inside and was about to put the tree in the garbage when I stumbled again and dropped the project. It hit the ground and one or two other pieces broke. It was still fixable, I knew that, but when I looked at the clock and saw that it was ten after eight, that the school bus was gone, my lower lip trembled. Now I had to walk, and my project was busted up._

"_What are you still doing here?" A voice snarled from behind me._

_I jumped and whirled around. It was my dad, and he looked angry with me. He'd been drinking, I could see that much. He had a five o' clock shadow and deep bags under his eyes, which were looking mean. My dad was a cop, and he'd just got off from working three days straight. I looked back at my project and sniffed. "It broke, and I…"_

"_You what?"_

"_I came in, to get rid of the tree, and I dropped it, an'… and the bus left, an' now I'm stuck…"_

"_So I gotta drive you?" he barked. _

_I didn't_ want _him to drive me. "I can still fix it, I'll walk…" I said hastily, wiping at my face. I couldn't cry. Whenever I did he seemed to get mad and cuff me behind my ears._

"_Are you_ crying?"

_The words came out harsh and accusing. I jumped up at once and gathered up my project, ready to run for the door. Maybe I was crying a little, but he couldn't see, I couldn't let him. It wasn't fair, he never touched my sisters, or Jack. Sometimes Michael, but mostly me. _

"_Git back here," he said, grabbing me by the collar as I rushed by. My project flew from my hands and managed to land on the table. I choked as he threw me back and I hit the ground. I cowered at his feet,_ _covering the back of my neck with my hands. If I wasn't crying a second before, I was crying then. I was sobbing like a baby._

_He sneered. "Take off your Jacket."_

"_N-no," I said, "I gotta go to school."_

"TAKE IT OFF!" _He grabbed me and hauled me up by my collar again and I choked, coughing hard, wishing mom were home to make him stop_.

_I was shuddering as I took off my winter jacket and hung it on a chair. He took off his belt and pulled it taut in his hands, then began to wrap it around his right. I wondered what he wanted, I wondered if it would be like what happened to Jack, where his teacher hurt him in the bad way and went to jail. Having your dad hurt you in the bad way would be worse than any teacher._

_He whipped it suddenly and hit me across the face. I twisted around as he whipped me again, and again, and again across my back._ "You're weak!" _he bellowed, hitting me harder whenever I yelled louder._

"_DAD_ STOP IT!" _I screamed_.

"_No son of mine should be weak! Look at Jack, look what he endured, and he's not weak!" He hit me as hard as he could, still yelling. I guess he didn't realize then who Jack would become later. My head was spinning and my back aching. I tried to crawl away, but he stood over top of me and wouldn't let me move._

"Dad…"

_He lashed once more time across my exposed neck and I screamed in agony. He laughed._ "Weak_Can't even take it like a man, you're weak." I slumped down, sobbing, trying to turn off my tears so he'd stop, but I couldn't. I couldn't be weak, but I couldn't stop._

_Inside of me I felt the seething hatred which would haunt me from then until I was nearing my forties. I want to kill my own father, I wanted to whip _him, _I wanted to strangle him with my own hands and watch the light behind his eyes go out. I didn't care if I burned in Hell; I'd endure it because he'd be holding the door for me when I arrived. It was the first time I'd ever wanted to really kill someone, and it planted a seed of anger and hate inside of me, which began to send up razor sharp blades over the years which turned me into the man I became._

"_You're pathetic. You won't be strong; you won't be a man. You'll grow up a sinner, a faggot," he spat, throwing down the belt beside me and walking to the alcohol cupboard, the forbidden cupboard, where he shuffled inside until he found what he wanted._

_A fag? I was pretty sure that was a gay person. I knew what they were, sort of. I knew the church said if you were one you go to Hell. I knew in some pieced together way from whispered words and rumors about the schoolyard that it wasn't a man going out with a woman, but a man with another man. I couldn't be that, I couldn't, and he thought I was._

_He left me lying in the kitchen and went to go watch TV. He had another bottle in his hand, I didn't know if it was beer or a whole 26, and I didn't give a fuck. I got up after about fifteen minutes of self-pity, the tears turned off, and pulled on my jacket. I took the project with me. Dad didn't even grunt good-bye. 'Spose it was best that way, I might have just gotten madder._

_Outside on the way to school I threw it on the ground, envisioning it to be my father. Each piece was his face. I screamed as I stomped on it and destroyed it, and no one noticed. No one ever noticed anything in New York City; no one ever cared about anything except what was happening to him or her there and then. The Bronx especially was no exception. I felt the same; I didn't care about anything except what was happening to me. I left it there in the snow along with my weakness. I was bound and determined not to be weak, not to get hit ever again._

_I made it to school and missed my first classes and got several lectures from the teachers and vice principal. I lipped them off and got several detentions and a whipping for my lateness and cheek, but I didn't care. I headed for third period, history, where I told Mr. Rooney I didn't have a project and I didn't give a lick about it. I got a whipping on my hands for it, but I bore it silently. Jack thought I was nuts, I'd always been the good kid and it was the first time in school ever that I'd gotten whipped. I made a kid eat pavement in the school yard at lunch because he called me a nasty name and went home with a busted lip and a letter from the principal about my behavior that day, requesting a meeting over what may have caused it. _

_Dad said nothing, just looked at me long and hard with the eyes I'd inherited from him while mom read the note aloud, her voice wavering occasionally on details of the fight and how, if I'd continued, I may have seriously injured him. I could read his look; he was daring me to tell about what happened that morning. But I saw something else. Approval, perhaps._

"_You sent him home with a _bloody nose and a black eye?" _she said, mouth dropped, staring at me. "Elliot Richard, what has gotten into you?"_

"_He insulted me, and I wasn't going to take his crap," I said._

_She just goggled at me, unable to speak. Then, "Rick, deal with your son, he needs an attitude adjustment. Then we'll talk about what made you do it, Elliot."_

"_I did it, just me. Nothing _made _me. I was angry, and I just did it. I wasn't about to be a baby and walk away. No one calls me a b-"_

"_Shut up, Elliot!" my mother scolded, "if I hear that word from you I'm putting a bar of soap in your mouth!" she turned on my father next, looking accusing. He stared back with a blank cop look, like he was on purpose not registering a word she said. "Rick, what's gotten into him? What's wrong with him?"_

_My dad shrugged and sipped his beer._

"_Leave me alone, I don't want to talk about it. I gave him what he had coming, that was all. I was in a bad mood today. I missed the bus and busted up my project, and I was mad."_

_I turned and stomped to the bedroom I shared with Michael and Jack. As I turned the corner from the kitchen where mom had been cooking dinner I could hear dad's voice._

"_Jesus, leave the kid alone Linda. Something must've pissed him off and he's venting. Leave him alone, he'll be fine."_

_Fine? I spent the next twenty-seven years going downhill because of one moment. Just one. And it was your fault. _


	2. Ch 1, Blood Down the Drain

Chapter One – Blood Down the Drain

_September 22nd, 2005_

"Fifteen girls in the state of New York alone!" Said Jon Munch as he stared at the board. A picture of each sweet little girl was posted up. "Beaten bloody, raped, and left in drainage ditches. No DNA was ever found in them, he washed them. Hair samples with no roots, thus no DNA. In later science it was determined he was a Caucasian male, dark eyed, brown hair. I've worked the case six times, each of those six times a new girl was dumped like yesterdays trash in our borough.

"We worked through a multitude of suspects, but only one of them gave me the feeling I was looking at our perp. Brian Freeman, at the time, three years gone, gave me a feeling that made me sick. When he looked across at me I knew it was him, that there was no imagined love for these girls, no obsession. He just liked hurting things, and women are the easiest targets for him. He was smart, he played with my head for the whole twenty-four hour holding period. He never gave me an inch. Disappeared the next day.

"Now a man with Freeman's description – graying mousy brown hair, dark eyes, big glasses, a moustache, going bald, short and stout – has been seen conversing with the latest missing girl who fits the pattern. Freeman is the kind of bastard who you wouldn't think twice about asking the time, and Freeman would give it to you. Pleased to please, he is. He's the most disgusting thing on this earth, and he's done it again. In about a day we'll find the missing Amber Kauffmann, I imagine in a ditch, and he'll disappear, he's good at it."

I sat with the other detectives, staring at each photo. This case was easily Munch's case. No one messed with him when it resurfaced to haunt him. One of the girls had been his niece. Whenever this serial killer reared his ugly head Munch's dedication to his job increased tenfold. He wouldn't sleep, he wouldn't be his usual cynical, sarcastic self. He was an entirely new man.

"These families need closure, they need to find out who killed their little girls. By God, I'll be the man to shove the needle in his arm and watch him die," he said.

I know how that feels.

Olivia stood up and walked up beside Munch. "Where does he live now?"

"Queens," said Munch and I flinched, thinking about a violent pedophile living in _my_ neighborhood where _my_ little girl goes to school, "and so far it doesn't seem like he's made a move. We can't track him down and arrest him. The bastard's remaining elusive."

"Is his face in the papers?"

"His description is. But not his name. Just an Identi-Kit picture. He's going to be out of town by tomorrow."

No one could say anything. Munch slumped dejectedly into his seat and I felt a swell of pity for him. He was here before me, and this was one of the cases that defeated him over and over. I got up out of my seat and pulled on my sweatshirt jacket, then walked over, tugging on his arm.

"C'mon, we'll get a coffee," I said firmly, "you need one."

"No Elliot, I need to stay here and look for a lead."

"You're out of your mind right now, you're tired, you can't think. Just c'mon, we'll get a coffee from that gas station down the way and be right back. You need to get outside. Come on, Munch."

He rose begrudgingly, understanding that he did need to clear his mind. He followed me out into the night. It was raining. It had started at a drizzle earlier and had now proceeded to full-fledged coastal rain. We took my car because it was wet outside and drove the block and a half to the small gas station that actually brewed an OK cup.

As we parked Munch stiffened in his seat, looking like a pointer dog. I looked at him. "You alright?"

"_Freeman," _he said, clenching his teeth.

There was a big van, looked white even in the orange street lamp light, by the self-serve pumps. He had one hand on the pump, the other in his pocket. He was about 5'7", balding, gray hair, glasses, wearing a blue nylon wind breaker that was apparently doing fuck all in the weather and plain blue jeans. The kind of guy who could melt into the background, the kind of guy you wouldn't suspect or notice. The kind of guy we were after. Inside the van was dark, and I wondered if his victim was inside, scared or already dead.

My eyes flew over our surroundings. It was a small Mohawk gas station with a little coffee place inside. The building itself was at the head of the parking lot, and to its right was a touch-less carwash. Direct in front were two lines of pumps – self serve and full. At the end of the lot there was a small parking lot which actually had a few cars and an entrance, entrance only, to the lot. Just left of the building there was an exit/entrance to the lot, but nearby there were a few cars. This could be tricky.

I already had my hand on my radio. Slowly I raised it to my mouth. "This is Detective Stabler of the Special Victims Unit requesting backup," I said as quietly as I could. I told them the address, then added, "and don't have their lights and sirens on, we're tracking a highly dangerous serial killer, and need to make sure he doesn't flee."

"Good thinking," said Munch.

Both of us, very carefully, got out of the car. We pretended not to see him. Our badges were hidden and we both made an effort to stick to last night's game, trying to keep our eyes from flicking towards Freeman, who was watching us.

"No, that save by Commodore was amazing," I said in a scornful tone to Munch as we got closer.

"It was a lucky chance, one in a million. Chances are he'd never do it again," Jon replied. He had his collar up, Freeman couldn't see his face clearly, and the rain would prevent him from hearing his voice clearly. Good for us.

Freeman was looking back at the pump, having written us off as air. We stopped when I shot something about one of the players on the Edmonton Oilers. "The Oilers have been off their game for seasons, it's a miracle they beat Carolina," I said.

"I dunno, they did prove they can do something when they won the cup after Gretsky left."

Our argument continued – it was clear Munch cared little about hockey and he was struggling to hold up a side for the Edmonton Oilers, who were a favorite for the cup by a lot of people around here. I might've done a better job, I love hockey, but Munch was very anti-sports and I didn't know much about the teams from the "Great White North."

Freeman was done. He was walking towards the gas station, head down, both hands in front of him, hidden from view. We turned and began to follow after a moment, still arguing. Munch's hands were poised, ready to go for his gun. My hands were in my hoodie pocket and my hood was over my head to block the rain from my face. I was ready.

Two squad cars pulled up, one from the left from the street and the other behind us. I saw two cops rounding either side of the gas station, one from the alley and one from the street. Their guns were drawn already.

"_FREEZE!" _one screamed.

At once my hand flew down. One finger flicked the button up and uncovered my pistol. I drew it from its holster with practiced ease. Munch drew his only a second later as the two cops from either car came out, guns raised.

I held mine shoulder height and cocked my head just so I could see down the sight after I counted the odds. Eight to one, he was toast. Unless he had some helper in that van of his, there was no way he was going to make this. The car on the left was at a disadvantage, there were several vehicles in the way, and the other was behind Jon and I and that could make shooting difficult. They'd have to come around.

"Hands over your head and turn around, Freeman! No sharp moves!" Jon barked.

Freeman didn't move. He remained crouched, one foot up on the curb, the other in a puddle, huddled over. I wondered what schemes were boiling through his mind, but he was lost, there was no way he'd win.

I shuffled a little, feeling worried. I had that cold feeling in my stomach that something wasn't going to go down right. I shook my head, everything would be fine. We'd arrest him, we'd find the girl, we'd stick it to him, he'd go down for fifteen,_ fifteen_ counts of first degree murder and rape as long as Novak played her cards right. He'd get the needle in his arm, and we'd move on. Closure.

"Come on Brian, this can end now, just turn around slow and put your hands over your head!" I yelled.

He still didn't move. It was like he was a statue. I knew he was clutching something in his jacket. I knew it was going to be a gun. But until I saw it in his hands I couldn't shoot, couldn't do shit.

Hands over your head and turn around! This is your last warning!" Jon said impatiently.

"We're talking to you Freeman!" I called, blinking at a small trickle of water that went through my hood and flowed down my face.

Freeman didn't move. He shuffled a little, causing us and the other officers to tense up, but he still stayed looking at the ground. God, I knew it, I knew it wouldn't be pretty, and I was powerless to stop it. I couldn't do anything but wait.

"If you don't we're going to open fire!"

"For all your warnings you don't have any backbone!" snarled the perp, moving his hands down in front of him in a quick motion.

An over zealous rookie to the left of the perp fired on him and missed, barely. Freeman, however, seemed to be expecting it. He jerked backwards again as the trigger was pulled and managed to dodge it. There was a ping as the bullet hit a concrete pillar and sent chips of it flying.

Roaring in sudden, crazed anger Freeman turned now in an arc as his hands went into the jacket in a swift motion. Light shone off of his glasses as he pulled two fully automatic Mac 10's out of his jacket and opened fire on the cop that had shot at him, and also to the one on his right. They hit the ground and didn't move.

Something inside of me let out a sudden enraged howl. It was time to put an end to it, and I didn't even think to be concerned about my desire to send him to Hell. I bared my teeth as Munch and I both opened fire on Freeman. Pistol shots rang through the soaked air. The cops behind us had to swing around, to avoid hitting us, they were useless. One grazed Freeman's shoulder, one nailed him in the stomach.

He turned, still squeezing the trigger, and pointed one of the Mac 10's at Munch. The other was for me, but I quickly dodged behind a cement pillar. Munch, it seemed, didn't have my agility. Fully automatic weapons are nearly useless, they are impossible to aim. I'd know, basic training when entering the marines I got to fire a machine gun, hit the target with the first bullet, missed the rest. But the shot was lucky, three of Freeman's bullets found their mark in the fifty-year-old detective nearing retirement.

No. NO. _NO FUCKING NO!_

I swung back into his line of fire. I could hear someone screaming. I think it was me. There was nothing inside of me but anger, which exploded and burned everything. I felt my finger pull the trigger, my thumb cock the hammer, and I fired again before I knew where I was. I had the gun cocked when a spare round from Freeman's gun clipped me and sent a white hot flash of pain through my head. I pulled the trigger as I fell in my surprise.

I heard a shatter of glass and someone screaming, this time it wasn't me. Through my red haze I could see Freeman hit the ground, the guns silent. He didn't have a face anymore, my aim was true. Good.

I forced myself up and crawled over to Munch's crumpled body. His hand was over his stomach. Two of the bullets had hit close to each other, the other had tore up his shoulder. I struggled in the pouring water, trying to pull of my soaking hoodie. I pressed it against his stomach.

"CALL A BUS!" I bellowed as I propped Jon's head up on my knee. "JON! Jon, are you OK? _JON!"_

"Shut up you bastard, my hearing's going, but I'm not deaf yet," was his hoarse reply.

"Hold on buddy, we're gonna get you fixed up."

"Elliot, I hate to say this, but I think the only way I'm leaving this parking lot is in a body bag. I always knew it'd come to this." A pause. "Say good-bye to the others for me."

"Shut up," I told him, feeling the pangs of wanting to cry, tears prickled behind my eyes. I gritted my teeth. Crying is for the weak. "Shut up and don't use up your strength. You're gonna be in SVU longer than me. I'll eat my gun before you die."

"Elliot, how can I be in the squad unless I'm a pencil pusher? I can't feel my legs."

"Don't you fucking say that. Look, there's the ambulance. You're gonna get fixed up, Munch."

"What happened to the perp?"

"Shot him in the head. Sorry, he won't get what's coming to him."

"Fine by me. I was hoping you shot the bastard." Somehow, he smiled. "Though the idea of him getting a taste of his own medicine every day in jail makes me feel somewhat satisfied."

I forced a smile. I was shoved out of the way by the paramedics in their life saving attempts. Jon was loaded onto the stretcher and was pulled into the ambulance in a quick movement. It's amazing how fast those guys work. My elder sister Kelly used to be one, before the stress proved too much and she became a nurse.

One paused just before hoping into the ambulance. "Are you coming, detective?"

"Yeah, yeah I am," I pulled himself into the back without a second thought. Munch gave me a puzzled look. I grinned at him. "I'm not letting your old bones die yet."

"Smartass," said Munch, but he looked glad.

I sat in the waiting room staring off into space, not really thinking about anything, as the other detectives showed up in a group. My jacket was lost. My hands and shirt had blood on them, Munch's blood, and a cotton gauze bandage was taped to the side of my head, covering up the painful wound left by the round from the Mac 10, and it was bloodstained as well. I knew I was getting looks from other people, but the badge hanging around my neck explained it all. No one spoke to me.

Olivia sat next to me and touched my leg. I guess she was trying to reassure me, to comfort me, but I flinched and pulled away.

"You should get changed, El," said Olivia gently, her brown eyes filled with sympathy. I used to think I loved those eyes. I wonder what she'd have thought of that, that I loved her. But it would never work, we could never be.

Fin had joined me a few moments ago, but he said nothing. He was far too worried about his friend and partner. He was watching the emergency room hall, knowing that he was there somewhere getting help. Despite the constant complaints about the conspiracy theories, the cynical attitude and sarcasm, Munch and Fin were close. I knew he'd be torn apart if his partner died.

"No, I need to wait here," I said after a few moments.

"El, you're a mess. Come on, I'll take you home and we'll get you something new to wear."

"No, I need to wait here," I repeated.

"Go and change Elliot," said Don, who approached us.

I stared at him. What did he know? Nothing, that's what. He wasn't there when the perp went psychotic and turned his guns on Munch. He wasn't there when I felt that snap, the one that was scaring me still, and I shot him twice in the face.

Not about to ignore an order from my captain I rose slowly, staring at him insolently, as I left the chair. He grabbed me by the arm and I let him lead me out to his car. Olivia watched us as we left. I caught one final look from her as I left the doors.

Neither of us said anything during the drive. I merely stared at my bloody hands, reminiscent of when I was in the Marines and watching my companions die on foreign soil, in Desert Storm. But nothing compared to this, somehow.

When we got to my place I told Cragen to wait outside so I'd make the walk through the halls alone, but my captain followed anyway. My home was full of memories. Cragen stood in the door, watching, as I entered the hall bathroom. He didn't say anything, he'd been the first to know about my and Cathy's divorce, and how it was effecting me.

I washed my hands in the hall bathroom, watching Munch's blood, or was it mine, swirl down the drain, then changed into the first thing I found on the floor. Cathy would have killed me for being such a slob and letting the house fall into disarray. Thinking of Cathy brought a lump to my throat and I shook my head hard.

I wandered back out, glanced at the pictures on the wall and that familiar depression set in. None of Cathy's pictures were there anymore, she was too painful to look at. It was just the kids, one of Liv, and my siblings.

"Elliot, I want to hold your guns for awhile. You don't need them at the moment," said Cragen.

"What?" I asked, uncomprehending.

"I mean you don't need your guns. And I know you have more than one."

He knew me too well. "Why, am I not on the case?"

"You're too close."

My lips tightened. "We all are."

Cragen couldn't say anything to that. "I just don't want you to have a loaded gun around you at home, is all."

I gave in after a moment and retrieved two guns, both revolvers, and gave them to Cragen. One was hidden in the kitchen, one in my bedroom. Only once he was convinced I had no others did we leave. And he was right to take them from me.

At the hospital we arrived to good news – Munch was in stable condition and the bullets were removed. But the bad news was that he had a fracture in T-8, the Thoracic nerves on his spine. The fracture was small, so there was a possibility of him recovering and still being able to walk, but he would be out of action for five months. Three months in a body cast, two in rehabilitation to gain his muscles back and learn to walk again. It was September, practically October. We wouldn't see him until March '06.

Asleep from his pain killers, everyone stood in the room looking at his peaceful, lined face. Having no one listed as his emergency contact it was just us.

"What are we going to do without Munch?" Fin asked, the first words he'd spoken since he'd received the news.

"Whatever we can. Get a new recruit and hope for the best," said Cragen truthfully.

"No one'll replace him. No one."

"We'll see," he said.


	3. Ch 2, Losing Grip

I hate this chapter. It's my least favorite of this whole story. I plan on rewritting it, but I haven't had the energy, so please live with the suck-y-ness for now. I'm pretty sure I used spell check, but one can never be sure, so pardon spelling or grammar mistakes. RnR.

Chapter Two – Losing Grip

"Ok," said Cragen, taking Munch's place by the board. "We searched the van, nothing. We've had uniforms up and down all the usual dump sights and so far no sign of her. We figure that he either just left her for dead in whatever hideout he uses for his victims, or he was going back for her. So let's assume she's still alive. Fin, what do we have on him?"

"No family, works in a movie theater in Queens, little three screen, as a janitor and sometimes concession," said Fin. "Used it to get his victim."

"The Gemini?" I asked suddenly.

"Yeah, why?"

"Christ, my daughter goes there with Dickie sometimes."

"Least he's dead, dude, don't gotta worry about her. Anyway, doesn't really have any specific haunts, sometimes is seen at a CD store, does the poker thing with three other dudes, but we've only spoken to two of 'em and they said that they only get together Thursday nights, and don't speak. Just some dude to bet with."

"Girlfriend?"

"Yeah he did, she works in the library, looks like she's about fifteen, though she's really around twenty-five. Desperate kind of girl, it's a pity. She had no clue. She broke it off with him when Munch warned her."

"Could be the reason he's taken another girl. What about this third poker player?"

"Randy Fall, called and called, no sign. We figure he's avoiding us."

"Family?"

"Father split when he was a baby, mother died when he was twenty-something, I guess she was an overbearing mother, turned him into a mama's boy. Has a sister, sister's in jail for charges of child abuse on her son. Turns out that Freeman was a victim of incest, sister paid him midnight visits or some such."

"Explains why he's violent," said the calm, analyzing voice of George Huang, the team shrink, "Victim's of incest often lash out. His mother coddled him and his sister raped him, and he directed his anger towards women, specifically those between the ages of twelve and fifteen, when his sister was hurting him the most. I imagine he visualizes them to be his sister, to show her that he's stronger than her."

I stared at him a moment, then back at the board. I knew this already, but it made a lot of sense. The picture of his sister sat beside the victim's pictures and they all resembled each other. "God, why does it have to be this way? Just one vicious cycle, one person gets abused, then the next, then the next."

No one replied.

"Alright, Liv and Elliot, you hit the theater and the CD store, see what information you can get out of them," said the captain, "Fin, me and you will hunt down Randy Fall. It's early, he should be at home."

Olivia and I stood up and pulled on our jackets. The clock was ticking, and this was all we had to go by. We'd been doing other cases when Munch had burst in, waving the picture of Amber Kauffmann and declaring that "he'd" struck again. Now that we had the information the heat was on. It had been almost two days since Amber had gone missing, abducted from the Gemini. It was seven in the morning after I shot Freeman. We had to assume she was alive, we had to assume, too, that her time could very well be running out.

The CD store was about seven blocks from my place, Empire Records. I'd gone through once or twice, mostly it had old records and tapes, collectables, and a lot of used CD's. We got there at quarter after eight. The owner was opening when we rattled the door.

He glared at us, then his eyes widened in fright as we held up our badges.

"Can we come in for a moment?" I hollered through the glass.

"Yeah," he said, unlocking the door. "I didn't do nothing, though." He glanced at me. "What did you do to your head, man?"

"Mind your own fucking business," I snapped. Olivia shot me a sharp glance and stepped forward.

"It's not what you did. You remember this guy?" She held up the picture of Freeman.

"Yeah, yeah that dude who always bought those old Wings records. Yeah, he was in here often. That's about the only thing he loved, just old albums with Paul McCartney. He bought out our Beatles albums, didn't matter if he already had it, or how ratty they were."

"Really? Ever say why?" I asked next.

"Nah, just bought 'em. Whenever I got a new one in I saved it for him, because I knew he'd buy it. Did something happen to him?" He was walking away, looking down, and avoiding eye contact.

"He died," Olivia said shortly, "in a fire fight. Thing is, he abducted a girl named Amber Kauffmann…"

"Amber Kauffmann? No way! She was in here all the time! She loved The Beatles too, she always spoke to him. She bought the tapes with her allowance. He bought her a special edition copy of the White Album in LP for her birthday. Beats me how he figured out her birthday."

"Do you know where he hangs out? Anything?"

He glanced back, then shook his head. "No, just his gig at the Gemini."

"Alright. Listen, could you give us your name and number, and you can call us back if you remember anything that might be relevant?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it after a moment.

"Well?"

"Yeah, yeah, its Taylor Shaw."

Olivia glanced at me and I nodded. No one hesitated to give their name to the police – unless they were avoiding them, or didn't want to get caught for something. I bet its both.

Olivia wrote it down. She walked to the counter and looked over to the wall just behind. "Ah, employee schedule. Let's see… Sarah, Troy, Alex… no Taylor. But there's a Randy. And it _looks_ like he's scheduled to work this morning."

"Really?" I asked, sounding interested. "What's Randy's last name, Mr. Shaw?"

"Randy's, it's, uh…"

"Lemme guess, is it Fall?"

He went from white to red in a few seconds and looked like he swallowed something extremely sour.

I felt a little rumble in my chest, like distant thunder. "Some reason you're not returning our calls?"

"I…"

"Some little girl has been abducted, probably raped, could be dead, and you're avoiding us!"

"Cops make me nervous, I only let you in 'cause you were here, an'…"

"You God damn coward! Didn't we say this was important?" I snarled, "didn't we?"

"_Elliot!"_ Olivia said, elbowing me hard in the ribs. I shot her a look, but she wasn't staring at me. "Sorry for my partners behavior, he's been stressed. C'mon."

She grabbed him by the arm and led him outside. "You can close up and call someone else from the precinct and get them to open your store."

"Aw fuck."

"Yeah, you're right, _aw fuck,"_ I taunted. "Get in the car, and mind your fucking head."

Cragen and Fin burst into the observation room where I stood watching Shaw. Fin was the first to start talking. "Hey Elliot, we found out something about Fall, he-"

"…has a RAP sheet? Did time in Rikers? And it includes charges of stalking, endangering the welfare of a minor and sexual assault on a minor and possession of kiddy porn?"

"How do you do that?" Fin asked me.

I shrugged. "We found him first. He owns a CD store,"

"Empire Records, under Taylor Shaw. Randy Fall is an alias."

"He's in there," I said, nodding at the window which I stood by.

He sat in an interrogation sleeping. Only the guilty sleep. I stared at him through the glass, eyes narrowed. I felt the hollow thumping inside of me. My hands were tight around my tie, which I'd taken off and was now writhing in my hands. I wished it were his neck.

"What else do we do?" I growled.

"His apartment's been searched by CSU, no sign of the girl."

"Figures. I thought Freeman worked solo, though?"

George had joined us a moment ago. He was totally silent, and he scared me when he spoke. "Predators attract predators – Shaw is weaker than Freeman, Freeman saw opportunity and exploited it."

"Let's sweat him," said Fin.

We walked in and Shaw kept snoring. I walked up behind him and jerked his chair back hard and woke him up. Fin took the seat across from him, I stood in the shadowed corner behind him. We had our routine, one that only me and Fin seemed able to do. It wasn't good cop bad cop, not really. Fin plays mean, I play terrifying. No sympathy, not an inch.

Fin leafed through his file slowly, so Shaw could see each report, the picture of the girl he'd abducted with a friend and molested, keeping her for three agonizing days. Shaw stared at this picture, seemed mesmerized by it. After a second Fin shut it, pushed it to the side, and folded his hands.

"How many years in Rikers did you do, Taylor?"

Shaw swallowed hard. "Couple."

"Try ten. Now explain why you didn't do a whole hell of a lot."

"Made a deal, got off. Led them to another guy."

"I see. Worked with a partner, did you Shaw?"

Nothing.

"How'd you come by that CD store? You own it, don't you?"

"Inherited it from my uncle."

"Even though you're a cradle robber?"

"He never thought I did it."

"How'd you meet Freeman?"

"He found out about my time in Rikers. I told him what I did, he told me. Twenty-three girls. Bragged."

"You help with any?"

"No."

"C'mon Shaw," I said finally from the dark, "he offered you fresh meat and you went for it."

"I'm cured, I didn't do nothing."

I felt anger well up inside me. "Did he mention Amber?"

After a moment he nodded. "Once she left the store, just me and him, said he wanted to, y'know, show the bitch what its like to grow up."

I felt my eye twitch and a redness creep up into my face. "And you said?"

After a deadly moment. "I agreed."

Fin took over, obviously sensing danger. It wasn't time for me to scream, not yet. We volleyed back and forth. Each time I got a little more dangerous. We were getting closer, we'd caught him in two lies. Shaw was getting too brave though, especially of me. He sensed I was on a leash, that I couldn't do fuck all. He held nothing but for contempt for Fin, I could see that much a few minutes in when he answered his questions, voice dripping in condescension. He wasn't the coward we'd marked him as.

I never left the shadows and I could see it was bothering him. I paced sometimes, and when I did he watched me with the fear of prey to the predator. But when I spoke he always had a retort to push my anger on.

"Listen you son of a bitch, you took that girl with him, took her to whatever fucking hideaway you've got, and you raped her, you and Freeman took your sick time with her, and now she could be dying, and you don't give a fucking lick!" I roared. "Where is she?"

I came into the light, slamming my fist down on the desk. I looked into the eyes of the most disgusting kind of human to walk the earth. After a moment he smiled and leaned forward. "She had a good, tight cunt, you know that detective?"

Fin grabbed my arm to hold me back. "Elliot, stand down," he said. I felt my heart racing. I was going to kill him. I was going to put him out of his fucking misery. I had to take a swing at him, but I knew the chain of events which would follow an incident, and they were never nice.

"I know you, detective Stabler. You got a daughter, sometimes walks with Amber, named Elizabeth Stabler. And y'know? She's got a real fine ass on her." He laughed. "And I ain't the only one in this city who looked at it. Hell, maybe I ain't the only one in this _room."_

I snapped. "You mother fucker, I'll kill you!" I roared. Fin held onto me with all his might. I struggled. I was going to kill that motherfucker for ever looking at my precious Elizabeth. I was going to beat his teeth into the back of his skull, I was going to!

"Elliot, stand down! Stand down!" Fin told me. "He's playing you, man!"

"Shut up Jungle Monkey, this is between me and the detective," Shaw said. "I don't talk to nigger cops."

"Now you're a big man, where'd you learn that language?" Fin said as he pulled me back.

"Shut up, nigger," he hissed. "Your fucking partner deserved what he got. Too bad Freeman didn't get him in the head."

Fin let me go. Both of us were rushing around the table for him. Fin grabbed him by the arms and hauled him up. Shaw was screaming, my fists were flying. First a shot at Amber, then at my daughter, then Fin, and finally Munch in the ICU. That was it, this filth was dead. I felt myself climbing to ecstasy. I loved this, and I knew I shouldn't.

"FIN! ELLIOT!" I heard Cragen bellowing. "LET HIM GO!"

Neither of us heard and neither of us cared.

"Elliot!" I heard Olivia's voice call. I punched him again with frightening force, blood flew from his mouth and splattered the wall, but when I raised my fist to do it another time I couldn't. I saw her eyes, her terrified eyes. She'd never really seen me like this. I'd come to think of her as my little sister. My fist lowered, then dropped. I fell backwards and hit the ground ass first, suddenly winded.

Fin let go of Shaw and he darted into a corner, covering his bloody face. "I'll tell you anything!" he said hysterically, "just don't let them back at me! I'll say anything you want, I'll pretend this never happened, just don't let them kill me!"

"MY OFFICE NOW!" Cragen yelled. "Olivia, get the first aid kit, patch this filth up and get his statement. You," he nodded to a uniform, "make sure that bastard doesn't try anything and watches his mouth."

Fin and I followed Cragen into his office. He just grunted at Huang, who took it as an order to follow. He slammed the door so hard I'm sure it nearly shattered the glass. He walked to his desk and paced.

"I won't pretend I didn't enjoy seeing the bastard get what's coming to him," said Cragen, looking at us both as he sunk back into his more parental tone, "but you realize that if you'd killed him we'd never have found out where Amber was? By killing him you'd spell her own doom? Not to mention if he complains about police brutality, we're through, especially you two. Elliot, Fin, both of you are too close for this. Olivia and I can handle it from here. Fin, you get your ass home and relax. This case isn't yours. You'll be talking to Huang and getting regular therapy until I figure you're fine. Find something else to work on."

"Yes sir," said Fin, who was looking more relaxed.

"You," he said, rounding on me. "You told me you could handle this. You're off the case, and you'll be on leave until I say other wise. Elliot, what he said was disgusting, but you've been off the hook since last night. I told you that you were too close, and you managed to convince me to let you stay on. I don't want you home by yourself, so God knows what I'm going to do with you. You could have killed him, do you understand that?"

"Yes sir," I said slowly. I felt the dull thudding inside of me again. I was calming down but I knew what he'd do – he'd make me see a shrink. I fucking hate them, especially Huang. We've never gotten along. We're only friendly enough to say hello in the morning, sometimes not even that.

"You're going to be getting therapy too. You were going fine for awhile, but just recently it spiked, and today was inexcusable."

George walked up to stand by Cragen. "I could talk to both of them today," he offered, then turned to me. "Elliot, did you want to come to my office?"

"No," I said instantly. He offered, I declined, end of story. I wasn't spilling my guts to a shrink, they've never done me any good anyway. Whining was for the weak, and I sure as hell wasn't. I didn't need therapy, and that was that.

"You're going," said Cragen, "and that's an order."


	4. Ch 3, Apparitions

Chapter Three – Apparitions

I followed Huang down the hall. I still had blood on my knuckles. It was dry now and was causing my skin to feel stretched and dry. I stared at it in disgust as Huang unlocked the door to his office and let me in first.

The walls were a sort of light teal, a color I could sort of associate with him. He moved around his desk and sat in his chair, leaning back. He watched me as I sat down on the couch-thing all psychiatrists seem to have. I wonder if they're supposed to relax us or something. I hate shrinks.

"Want me to get you something to drink?" he asked me after a moment. He glanced at my hands. "Or a first aid kit?"

"I'm fine," I muttered.

He shrugged, then tossed me the box of Kleenex on his desk. I caught it, then looked at him, trying to look intimidating. "You think I'm gonna cry or something?"

"No, it's for your hands."

I pulled a few sheets out and spat in them, then started to wash my knuckles. He watched me the whole time with a look on like I was some sort of documentary. I glanced up at him and he didn't look away. He had that smiling look in his eyes. I've only ever seen him do it, smiling with just his eyes.

"I'm not talking to you."

"Fine. Sessions are an hour long. We just won't talk for an hour."

"Fine."

I finished wiping my knuckles clean. I was stuck here for an hour. I kicked back and lay down, staring at the stucco roof, counting the dots. I could feel his eyes on me, they wouldn't leave me alone. After a moment I couldn't stand it.

"Stop staring at me, I'm not talking."

"I understand that."

Damn him. He's too hard to understand, and impossible to get around.

After another long moment I couldn't stop my mouth from moving. It had a tendency to run away whenever I was alone with a shrink, and ends up getting me in shit. I nearly got fired, I was thrown off of cases…

I was already thrown off, what would it hurt?

"He spoke about my daughter, said he watched her."

"What else?"

"I'm not repeating it. Ask Fin or Cragen, or the slimy bastard yourself."

"OK. What else did he say?"

"Called Fin a… I'm not saying that either, but he knew I was on a leash, he knew he could push me, like he had immunity, like he wanted to make me snap it almost seemed, just to watch me squirm. Our act just let him know I was being controlled."

"Is that why you attacked him? To show him you weren't being controlled?"

"No, he spoke about my daughter, and that's why I did it."

"Was it a factor?"

"Might'a been."

"Did you want to kill him?"

"I don't want to say."

"Fine." I heard a pen scrape on paper. He took a note. I turned and glared at him.

"What did you just write about me?" I snarled.

"That you're upset at your reaction. You're upset that you wanted to hurt him. Like it disgusted you."

"How do you know that?"

"Elliot I've worked with you for five years now. I know you don't like your anger, I know you feel like it's another entity, another you, like the voices in a schizophrenic's mind."

"I've never told you that."

"I've gathered it. Have I hit the nail on the head?"

I hesitated, then nodded once. "I can hear it all the time. Sometimes it's loud and sometimes it's quiet. Today it was loud. I lost it. It took over."

"Has it before?"

"I beat up my old partner. I would've killed him if I hadn't stopped. I nearly killed a pedophile I'd worked under cover to catch. I killed Freeman."

"What do you do to stop it?"

I blinked. "Hit stuff. Punching bags, pillows, the walls, anything. I don't want to talk about it."

"You'll get angry?"

"Yeah. Cathy left me because I was mad all the time. Figures, doesn't it?"

Huang didn't say anything. Just watched. This wasn't a usual session. Normally he asks me tons of questions until I'm ready to punch him out. Now he's just sitting, watching, waiting for me to make the first move. I'm tired of making the first move. I wanted to make him ask, not the other way around.

Then, "have you been sleeping well?"

I looked at him funny. "Why?"

He shrugged.

"Sleep fine," I lied. He gave me a look. Good fucking God, never fucking lie to a God damn shrink! I could tell he didn't believe me. "Alright, fine, I have weird dreams."

"What dreams?"

Before I knew it I was telling him. I could see it with terrifying clarity.

A hall stretched down before me and I was alone. There was no real light, so everything was shades of gray. My eyes had simply adjusted to the gloom. As I walked doors came into view and from behind each I could hear people yelling. Sometimes it was Olivia, sometimes it was Cathy, sometimes it was Hendricks, but mostly it was my children. Some were simply calls, some were screams. It depended on the door.

I'd go to the door to open it and help them but as I neared it, it would turn into a stone wall, unable to be opened. They'd scream, but I couldn't do anything about it. I'd try and force the door, but it'd never budge, it was just stone set in a regular wall.

"_ELLIOT! WHERE ARE YOU!" I heard Olivia's frightened voice cry. "ELLIOT!"_

I'd keep walking, trying to find a door that opens. But nothing ever presented itself. I was lost and desperate. I want to help them, but I just can't get to them. Eventually a little pinprick of light would appear down at the end of the hall and I'd try to run, but my legs wouldn't work.

"All I know is that if I could reach that little bit of light I'd be able to save them," I said softly. "I'm afraid to sleep at night because I know I'll never reach it."

The scratching of Huang's pen ceased. He laid it carefully on his desk and folded his hands. He was staring at me intently. He didn't say anything. He wanted me to say something. God that was pissing me off.

"I just want to save them."

"You want to save them, or have them save you?" he asked softly. "They never did ask for help, did they?"

I stared at him. I was thinking, or trying to think of, some retort but the gears clicked into place. No one ever asked for me to save them, no one ever asked for my help. All it ever was, was _"Where are you? Where are you daddy? Can you hear me? Why won't you answer?"_

"They ask if I can hear them."

"Can you?"

I felt tightness in my chest. Not anger.

Fear.

"I don't know."

_July 21st, 2005_

"_God, Elliot, I just don't know what to do anymore," said Olivia._

_  
Tears were streaming down her face and the mascara she wore was running. She was hugging herself, and she looked so alone. It tore at me and I took a few steps forward and touched her shoulder. After a moment I drew her closer to me and she let out another sob._

"_Do you want to quit?" I asked her._

_She shook her head. "No one else… no justice… God, even if I try, nothing changes! The cycle just goes on and on and on!"_

_A father was molested by a neighbor as a child, that father molests his son, now that son in a psychotic break has killed three children, seriously injured another four, and tried to kill himself with his fathers Colt. The son, a little sweet black boy, is getting crucified because of the color of his skin. His father, a white man who adopted the boy, has been ignored. No one sees the monster, they just see the boy, and we can do nothing. We're powerless without any more evidence, without a confession. The public cries for the trial of the little boy, but not for his father, the respected, clean shaven, white small business owner. When we got the order to release him I broke my knuckles punching a cinderblock wall in my frustration. The injustice, the racism, made me sick. It made me look at America in a new light – that it wasn't a country built by strength and visions, but a place for the scared and weak to hide and destroy what they don't understand. The thought scared me._

"_Olivia, we did all we can."_

"_But it's not good enough, is it? They're crying for him to be tried as an adult! He snapped! Huang sees it, Huang believes he wasn't responsible for his actions because he'd been abused and then bullied at school, but the public only sees those children, not the truth!"_

_I held her in the hallway of her apartment building. She cried into my shoulder, her tears soaked my coat as she shook. I'd never seen her like this, never. My heart cried for her even though I kept up my façade._

"_I know how it feels to be hurt, Liv." I said quietly. "I know what it feels like to not get justice. I know it hurts. But I also accept when nothing more can be done."_

"_Why, what happened to you?"_

_We'd been partners for years. She always looked at me with that look, the one where I knew she wanted me. I felt her in my arms and I held her a bit more tightly. I felt like I could go into her apartment and make love to her all night long, but at the same time the only thing I really wanted was to hold her and make her know she was OK. That everything would be OK._

_Did I love her? Did I love her enough to say? I told Cathy. She knew me better than anyone, or at least I thought so. That trust was what created our relationship. I suddenly wondered… was that the only reason we got married? Our relationship was on the rocks, we slept in different beds, and we fought all the time. I had a feeling she would file for divorce soon if I didn't shape up. But I didn't know how._

"_My father used to…" I said, but I couldn't finish the sentence._

_Her expression was that of shock. "Elliot, he didn't… didn't _molest_ you when you were a child, did he?"_

"_No," I said sharply, "never that. But he hit me. And Michael. Never Jack, don't know why. I suppose it was because the bad thing happened to Jack."_

"_Bad thing?"_

_I wished I hadn't said that. "His trust was betrayed by a teacher. Now he's messed up… there's basically zero chance he'll ever recover or have a normal sex life. He's mostly the reason I joined SVU… along with my dad. Kids shouldn't be hurt."_

"_Mom was raped." She made an almost laughing sound, a sound that didn't belong to her. "I wouldn't know the bastard from anyone else on the street, but he's out there. My dad's out there."_

_I felt the usual clench in my stomach. She'd told me this before, and then I'd felt sick, and now I felt sick, and every time I thought about it I got sick. The injustice was unbearable, but… but if her mother had gotten an abortion, or hadn't been raped, then Olivia wouldn't be standing with me under the dim lights in my arms._

_She pulled away slightly and looked into my eyes. I felt the urge to kiss her. I knew I was going to. I could see it in her eyes, she wanted me to come in, regardless of the fact I was married. And I wanted to go in. I wanted to hold her._

_Did I really want to make love with her though? Did my desire run that deep? Was I _physically_ attracted to her? I didn't think so. Something, some side of me, said no. Said this wasn't good, and I agreed._

_I leaned down and kissed her gently. Her lips were wet from her tears, and they were soft and warm on mine. No shoot of desire or hunger went through me. It was just a kiss. I was sure of it. I pulled away after a moment, a long, hard moment, and looked into her eyes._

"_Elliot…" she began to say, but I interrupted her._

"_I can't, Olivia." _

"_Why?"_

"_Because. I'm married, and…"_

"_And?"_

_The moment stretched into eternity. She was still in my arms and I still had the chance to do what she wanted, what I was thinking I wanted._

"_And I… I don't love you, Olivia. Not like that. Perhaps never like that. It's killing me to say this, but… we can't be together. I'm sorry, Olivia."_

_She pulled away from me and hugged herself. Her eyes were hurt and betrayed. I wanted to die._

"_I have to go. Don't… don't hurt yourself, Liv."_

"_Same to you, Elliot." She paused. "I think you're right though. I love you but…"_

_I nodded. "Not like that."_

I gasped and bolted up in bed. What the hell brought that around? And why did it make me so scared? That memory… I shook my head. No, game over, all done, never again. I don't love her anymore. I rubbed my eyes, then stretched my face with the heel of my palms, my usual wake up ritual. I needed a coffee, that Mexican blend Liv bought me that sits up and barks, and a shower.

I looked at the clock. It was after three. Elizabeth and Dickie were out of school and probably back at their grandma and grandpa's. I wanted to go talk to Elizabeth, to make sure my little girl was all right.

I forced myself through the motions. The shower felt good, though it made my head hurt like hell. I turned up the heat to max so the steam billowed around me and obscured everything from view. I had the radio cranked.

_It's history_

_And on your face_

_I promise you_

_I'll learn from my mistakes_

I left the shower and switched the radio to a different station. Cathleen listened to that stuff, not me. I shaved and brushed my teeth, changed my bandage and dressed in regular street clothes and headed out. The drive was about an hour long, so I got there at four-thirty.

My former monster-in-law answered the door. She was around five foot five, had iron gray hair, grey eyes to match and a permanent scowl. She never approved of me, and nearly disowned her own daughter for marrying me. She hates the military, her first husband was killed in Vietnam, and she approved even less of my being in the NYPD. At least it was one less Christmas present to worry about.

"What do you want?" she said, looking at me with distrust.

"To see my daughter, Elizabeth," I replied, trying to keep civil, "I'll wait out here."

"That's fine, you can come in. She's in her room. The one at the bottom of the stairs," she tossed her head in the direction of the basement stairs. I walked in and pulled off my shoes. Cathy was at the top of the stairs leading to the main floor.

Her blond hair was tied up and she was dressed in track clothes. She must be on her way to the gym. We used to go together. She didn't nod hello or anything. I didn't either. I just went for the stairs.

"I saw you in the paper," Cathy said.

I turned and looked up at her.

"Is Munch OK?"

I nodded. "He'll be fine."

"Don't kill yourself, Elliot." She turned and walked away.

I choked on words for a moment. The divorce wasn't finalized yet, I still hadn't seen the papers, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to sign them when they came. Then I gave up, turning away I jogged down the stairs.

I knocked on the door. I heard Elizabeth's voice from within and I entered. The room was pink, it seemed grandma and grandpa had done a little remodeling for my girl. She had posters up every where, of bands like Backstreet Boys. One of those bands played over the radio. Hell if I knew who they were, they all sounded the same. It made me smile, though. She was growing up to like her own things, she always used to copy Dickie.

She smiled at me. "Daddy!"

She leapt off her bed, knocking her homework down, and ran up and hugged me. I hugged her back. "God, every time I see you you're a foot taller!" I said, squeezing her back. "I've missed you, Miss Mouse!"

She laughed. "You haven't called me that since I was, like, five."

I laughed with her. I helped her pick up her books. I studied the page. "Algebra, huh? I hated the stuff."

"I hate it too."

"Need help?"

"Nah, I can do it fine," she said. "I just hate it."

"Have you spoken to Amber lately?" I asked.

"Amber Kauffmann? How'ja know we were friends?"

"Someone mentioned it."

"No, I haven't. I heard she got abducted. Are you looking for her, daddy?"

I nodded. "Yeah, we all are."

"Did you hurt your head?" She gently touched the bandage on the side of my head, "mom said you were in the paper."

"Yeah, I hurt my head. I'll be fine."

"Is Uncle Munch OK?"

Munch'd get a kick out of hearing that. "Yeah, he's OK. The doctors are fixing him up."

"I'm proud of you, dad."

I smiled. "I'm proud of you. And I'm glad to see you're OK."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I didn't say you weren't. Dad's worry about their daughters, I just happened to pick today to worry about you," I said, pulling her to me, arms around her. "I love you Elizabeth. Take care of yourself, right?"

"Right. I'm a Stabler, I won't get hurt."

I laughed softly. Sometimes I wish that were true. "Yup."


	5. Ch 4, Wasted Time

Chapter Four – Wasted Time

When I'm not working I feel like it might be high time to throw myself off the closest embankment. There's just nothing to _do._ It drives me mad. In the old days I'd hang out with my kids, but I never saw them now. If I go into the precinct I have to talk to Huang. I don't know what else to tell him, the only psychiatrist I ever enjoyed speaking to was Dr. Hendricks, and a month ago she was moved to Phoenix, Arizona. I suppose it was because of some aftermath from the twin case where she almost lost her license. And I suppose it was for the best she left anyway.

Olivia found me when I was wandering around in central park. I was hanging out by the lake, throwing the garbage from a vendor hotdog into the garbage when she approached.

"If you're not at your usual restaurant, you're here," she said as I scored a three pointer in the garbage. "You like the hotdogs best here, as I recall."

"Swish!" I said, and I smiled at her.

She smiled back. "How are you doing?"

"Good, how's Munch?"

She grinned. "He's just bored about not being able to move. He says the nurse who gives him sponge baths on Tuesday's is really cute."

We both laughed. "I got to see my daughter," I said.

"Elizabeth?"

"Yeah. She's doing fine."

"Good."

There was a long pause. She was staring at the lake, a big black lab was bouncing through the shallows after a stick and stirring up ducks I looked at her and my mind flitted back to the July night earlier this year when we were standing in the hall to her apartment. The way she looked and felt in my arms, clinging to me, her tears drenching my shoulder. I'd almost forgotten that night, that moment, until just then.

I reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "You OK?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Amber's fine, or as fine as she can be. We traced her to a storage facility owned by another one of Shaw's aliases. She had hypothermia, rape kit came back positive for both Freeman and Shaw. She's good now. Shaw pled guilty, twenty years."

I snorted. "None of the other girls get justice."

"You killed him, Elliot. While he did get what he deserved he still won't have his trial."

I let go of her and folded my arms across my chest. That was the last thing I needed reminding of.

"The new guy's here. You won't believe this," she laughed, "started his career in the RCMP for five years, then came here, went through his academy again and worked in Pittsburgh for three years, and now he's upgraded to detective because of this huge hostage situation gone as wrong as possible he smoothed out. This'll be his first."

"Tenderfoot. Won't last a month."

"Yeah, willing to bet so. I guess the guys down in Pittsburgh liked him though, called him Dudley Do-Right and they only pick on the ones they like. His name's Lugh Vargas."

"Lugh, huh? Is he Chinese?"

"Lugh's Irish, a saint name I think. Mom's Irish-Canadian, dad's Cuban. He explained it to me. He likes talking, I think. I also think you'll have little patience with him. He's a Bush-hating, Green Day blaring Democrat, and you're a classic Republican."

"I get along with you, and you're a Democrat."

She grinned. "Fin's already snapped at him about his i-Pod. He dresses like a kid."

"He sounds like a teenager!"

"Twenty-nine."

"Twenty-nine? But he only did eight years policing, what did he do before? College?"

"Grew up in New York after his parents died. He's a former heroin addict. After he got out of rehab he went back to Canada and started his policing career. I guess he missed the US, came back. I'm here to drag you to the precinct to meet him. And Cragen say's you're talking to Huang again."

"An order?"

"Told me to tell you."

I groaned. "Why me?"

She laughed at me. "Let's go, El."

The new guy was talking to Huang when we got in. He was definitely Hispanic and he looked like a wise ass. His black hair was cut closer to Olivia's length and a pair of expensive sunglasses was pushed up over his head. He was dressed somewhere between casual and business – khakis, suede jacket, and a striped shirt that wouldn't have looked out of place at a punk concert.

Waitaminute…

"Christ! Lugh you bastard!" I yelled suddenly as every piece of the puzzle clicked into place and clues that weren't obvious before light up, bright neon. "Oh you prick, I'm gonna give you hell for not telling me in your e-mails! Fuck, Liv, why didn't you mention this was Lugh Ahern!"

Lugh looked up and his face split into an evil grin. "Hey Stabler! Last name's changed, it's Vargas now!"

He ran over and I hugged him, more like a bear hug, and let him go. He was like a little brother. We go way back. I helped his sister Jody on a rape case back when he was still a heroin shooting junkie. I don't know why it didn't occur to me when Liv told me!

"How's Jody?" I asked.

"Knocked up," he said, laughing. "Single mom, living in Scarborough Ontario. If it's a boy it'll be Elliot, if it's a girl, it'll be Julia. She want's to raise her kid in a nice place, and she says New York isn't. Whatever, back to the roots, eh?"

"Yeah. Jesus, Liv told me that you were a former heroin addict, named Lugh, from Canada. I'm off my game today!"

Huang was smiling at me. "When you're done catching up I'll be waiting in my office."

I was so happy I didn't snark at him. "Yeah, OK."

We finished talking after about fifteen minutes when Lugh was beckoned by Cragen and Fin. It was going to be his first ride out. I wished him good luck and strength, that he'd need it, and he waved good-bye as he wandered out the door with Fin.

Now that I'd gotten over Lugh actually working with me I wasn't exactly looking forward to going and seeing Huang. I knocked lightly and he let me in.

"Avoiding the precinct I noticed," he said cheerfully.

"Yeah, yeah."

I sat down on the funny leather couch.

"Lugh's quite the character."

"He's cool. He won't bring back what Munch took, but he'll definitely make the atmosphere better."

Huang nodded. "Last time I spoke with you, you seemed upset about me waiting for you to talk."

Hit the fucking nail on the head, doc.

"Well today I'll ask you questions, alright? Don't answer anything that will make you uncomfortable. Firstly, may I ask Dr. Hendricks to fax over your file from Phoenix?"

I thought about what was written in that file, what I'd told Hendricks. I thought about her office, that day, and… I shook my head. "You're the shrink now, I suppose, yeah, you can. Just…"

"Just what?"

I thought about Hendricks. I thought about Liv. I thought about Cathy. One, two, three, all winding down. Cathy knew my life story, she learned it bit by bit as we got older, and she understood how hard it was for me to open up. By the end I was getting angrier as I was bottling more and more up from my job and she got tired of it. Olivia learned it through our partnership. She understood what happened to me, I guess, without actually knowing what happened. Hendricks actually heard the words before we knew each other a year.

One, two, three.

Damn it, damn it all! Cathy and I were teenagers, was I trying to prove a point? I made love to her in her parent's basement. We got married less than a year later because I got her pregnant. Olivia was in my arms, I kissed her, and I wanted to hold her and hold her and hold her. Hendricks walked into my life, then out of it, but she knew the most. I never did get to hold her hand.

"Just… just… I don't know."

One, two, three.

"Alright then. You mentioned in your dreams your children and your friends never asked for help. They asked if you could hear them. When you're with them do you feel detached?"

"No, not really."

"Do you hear them? Everything they say?"

"I guess so."

He folded his hands in front of his face, staring at me like he was trying to figure out a difficult puzzle.

"What do you think about when you're with them?"

"I dunno. When I was with Elizabeth, my daughter, I… I thought about her I guess."

"What about her?"

"No, that's wrong, I was sort of thinking about Cathy. Our divorce. Then I was thinking about something she said. That she's a Stabler, and she wouldn't get hurt, and how that was wrong."

"Why is it wrong?"

"Because it's easy to get hurt."

"Do you get hurt easily?"

I didn't even glance at him. "I'm not weak."

"So no?"

I shrugged. Inside I was saying _yes._

"Shaw mentioned that someone else was watching your daughter."

I felt my stomach clench. "Isn't me or Fin, and he said they were in this room. He was just fucking with my head."

"Did it sound like he was doing that?"

No. "Yes."

_Every lie…_

We spoke for a long time. He analyzed my dream and my thoughts until it was dissected in every possible way. He started getting frustrated with my answers after awhile, I could tell, and it was making me happy.

We'd been talking longer than usual when he just sighed. "Christ, Elliot, you mystify me."

It was the first time I heard him say a curse before and I raised one eyebrow, looking over at him. He was staring back at me.

"Why do you think it's weak to talk?"

_Floored._

"I never said it was."

"You act that way. You told me earlier that you're not weak when I asked you if you got hurt easily. Why is it bad to be weak?"

"Because people will push you around."

"Don't you think that that anger inside of you, that other Elliot, is a result of that suppression? Not talking about it, keeping it bottled, is making it hard for you to deal? I know you're disgusted by your actions – you hate them, I know you do. I know you want to be able to relax and feel at peace for once in your life, but do _you_ know why?"

Yeah, I do. Why would I tell you, though? You're another man. It'd be just plain weak to _depend_ on another _man._ When you read my file maybe you can get it then, but I told Hendricks, not you. I can't be weak because I can't be hurt that way… I could still feel the sting of the belt if I thought about it.

"What's your anger look like on the inside?"

I shrugged.

"If something bad happened, if one of your daughters were hurt by another being, if you were threatened or attacked, or if a friend was threatened or attacked, like Lugh or Olivia, what do you think your anger would make you do? It's there Elliot, I can see it right now, and in an emotion's own way it's talking to you. The vein in your temple is beating, you're going red, your jaw is clenched and your eyes are focused. What are you suppressing?"

"Nothin'."

"You're angry with me. For knowing how you feel."

"M'not."

I sound like a fucking kid. But if this keeps up I'll likely put his head through the wall. I could see the motions as I threw something and rampaged, hit, hit… I could see me hitting him and George recoiling in fear, and it scared me.

_Aw fuck… I hate being mad._

The dull thudding was easing away after a moment when I focused my attention else where, focused some old lullaby though my head, one I used to sing to Maureen back when she was a little babe. Man, had that really been twenty years ago?

"Elliot, what does it look like?"

_All around the garden like a teddy bear…_

"Elliot, are you listening?"

_One step, two step, tickly right there!_ Maureen's giggle rang through my mind and I smiled.

I saw Huang watching me and it disappeared.

"What did you think about?"

"Maureen's laugh."

He nodded, then glanced at the clock. "Well, I think that's enough for today. Do I have to force Olivia to hunt you down, or will you come in on your own?"

I glanced at him as I got up and went for the door. "I'll come in."

I was just about to leave, half out the door when I paused, then looked at Huang, who looked peacefully back. I don't know why but at that precise moment I noticed his eyes. Just noticed them, they were the first things to grab my attention. They were concerned. I hadn't seen that on anyone's face except for Cragen or Liv.

"On the inside I'm terrified, Huang. On the inside I know that if I don't do something soon… I might just go out and kill someone."

I shut the door before he replied.


End file.
